The Bad Boy's App

Public.

This world, for some reason, is keen on getting me out of the house. It knows I want to stay inside every day, curled up in a tight ball while drinking a big cup of green tea while texting strangers or reading a good book. No, instead, the horrible world decided to bring people into my life who enjoyed dragging me outside by my ankles while my fingernails break off from gripping the floor.

Okay, no one can actually drag me from the ankles but it's how it felt.

 

That's what I thought while crossing my arms over my chest when sitting in the passenger's seat. My mom was the one who was driving this time and I wasn't as fearful when Thorin was driving. Mostly because I knew if she was going to kill me, she would actually tell me. Plus, I could actually take her down. Just one kick to her pudgy legs with my chubby legs and the woman would be done for the day.

"Flora, you look like you're smelling shit." Mom said with her focus on the road and her hands at the wheel, both hands. She didn't look like the cool low rider like Thorin with one hand on the top and the other only god knows where while he leaned as far back as possible. What she did have was the uptight mom look to her.

"You do kind of smell bad." I retorted.

"That's it, no more watching bad t.v for you."

"Mom, I don't even watch t.v."

"I'm shutting down the whole wide web." She crinkled her nose.

"Mom, you can't just shut that down. Do you know what kind power you would need for that?"

"Flora, are you underestimating my powers?"

"Actually yes." My eyes rolled. Quickly, so did my stomach when she parked the car in front of a store. Now, I can handle some stores. I can handle stores such as those who are gracious enough to provide food or stores that handle in the art and craft of tea. Those are great. But not those in who dare to think it is okay to sell clothes that are which cut and seemed into pieces that people placed on their bodies with stores within a big store.

I'm talking about a mall if you don't excel in the language of Dramatic.

I hissed, placing my fingers into a form of a cross at my mom. "Demon!" I gasped, praying my finger cross would hold up against her demonic ways.

"Daughter!" She gasped back, also putting her fingers in a cross formation.

There was no way I was going go into a hell hole full of slithering demon like creatures such as my mom who do nothing but spit fire as they rummage through the baron lands of clothes. Their slithering bodies would come down through the aisles, sniffing for the best bargains and the soul of the weak. Blood would be shed along with tears as while battle cries are flung into the air. And all for cloth that was not worthy to be touched by my skin.

Translation: I didn't want to go into the store because I didn't want to deal with the people and clothes suck ass.